


Hotel Takeover

by Lorese



Category: Original Work
Genre: Androgyny, Bikinis, Brainwashing, Cunnilingus, Doggy Style, Dominance, Dubious Consent, Erotica, Extremely Dubious Consent, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Group Sex, Hypnotism, M/M, Mind Break, Mind Control, Multi, Nudity, Oral Sex, Original Character(s), Original Fiction, Other, Partial Nudity, Porn, Restraints, Service Submission, Sex, Smut, Subliminal Messages, Submission, androgynous, bimbo, bimbofication
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-04
Updated: 2020-06-04
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:08:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lorese/pseuds/Lorese
Summary: An uncharitable female executive enters a strange hotel. Her stay proves both relaxing and life-changing (with a little help from bimbo mind control).
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Female Character, Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 5
Kudos: 147





	Hotel Takeover

**Author's Note:**

> This story doesn't require any previous reading to enjoy. Though it does technically take place in my ongoing "hotel" series, the tales can be read in pretty much any order! Have fun!

Charity didn’t know the meaning of the word. At least that was the joke around the office. The head of investment consulting, Charity Rode, knew all about it. She didn’t really mind; she didn’t really _disagree_. At the very least, she didn’t believe in giving anything away for free. She believed in the thrill of closing deals — of turning lots and lots of money into even more money. It was that drive and competitiveness that got her nearly to the top of a multibillion dollar corporation by the time she was thirty-five.

And because it was a multibillion dollar company, it wasn’t the sort that needed to hold meetings in out-of-the-way hotel conference rooms. Yet Charity stood in the lobby of one such building, alone, wondering where the hell the receptionist might be.

She wore a sharp, white women’s suit over a red blouse. It perfectly hugged her cheerfully thick hips and thighs. Meanwhile, her black tie matched her thick, dark hair. As did the thin pair of sharp glasses that framed her face. The vivid colors positively screamed against the beige backdrop of the empty lobby. The place wasn’t dirty, or rundown, sure. It was just cheap.

Charity wondered why the company hadn’t sprung for a better class of place to hold this quarter’s board meeting. Better yet, why not just hold it in one of the many buildings they already owned?

She got her answer from a pair of obscene, bouncy hooters. She turned around to see them press forward with a slight wobble just in front of Charity’s fair face. They were attached to a medium-sized woman with long, green hair buzzed short on one side. Her skin — almost as light as Charity’s — was intermittently dark with various tattoos. These included various dainty designs as well as some… suggestive drawings and phrases.

It was easy enough to see every one of them, too. The young woman wore only a pink string bikini. Some frills around the laughable fabric did barely anything to hide the girl’s wide hips (slightly bonier than Charity’s soft, flaring midsection) and huge tits. Her throat was the most covered thing about her: wrapped in a thick choker that read “SERVICE.”

So that’s how it was…

“Good afternoon, ma’am.” The perky punk spoke through dark red lipstick and a dopey smile that made Charity want to slap her. She knew exactly what kind of woman this was. “Are you Ms. Rode?”

Charity outright rolled her eyes and nodded. The bimbo didn’t react at all to her cold demeanor.

“Yes,” said the executive. “That is if you be _Charity_ Rode. I’m here for the conference?”

The last statement turned to a question as she checked, one last time, that this wasn’t a joke — that Green Hair didn’t mean a _different_ Ms. Rode. But she knew that wasn’t the case… This was exactly the sort of thing the boys’ club of high finance might pull. They must have rented out the whole hotel (explaining the lack of guests) and filled it with special “service” to bounce up and down on their overpaid cocks to celebrate any deals that were sealed (explaining why they picked the middle of nowhere).

Speaking of bouncing, the other woman literally hopped up and down and clapped softly when Charity confirmed her identity. Those pink-clad mounds miraculously stayed in their tiny cups, but the girl’s excitement jiggled through them like Jello in an earthquake.

“That’s wonderful,” she said. “You’re the last one to arrive. And everyone was _particularly_ excited for you to come. I’m with hotel service, of course.”

The girl closed her eyes and pushed her chest out. Her hands stretched back behind her outthrust bubble butt for balance. Charity could see her nails were long: painted the same green as her hair. It took the executive a second to realize this woman actually meant to present her _collar_ — the one with “SERVICE” written on it — for easy reading.

“Yes,” Charity continued. “I can see that. I’m sure you’re... very good at it.”

“Oh, yes!” The strange woman tittered and returned to her previous posture. Her torpedo tits returned to just _uncomfortably_ close, rather than point blank range. “I serviced three or four guests just while we were waiting for you. I’m very efficient!”

Charity rubbed her eyes beneath her glasses.

“Do you mind just showing me to the conference room? I’d really hate to make anyone wait here any longer than they need to — especially myself.”

“Oh, yes,” Green Hair repeated. “Everyone is waiting on the top floor. Unfortunately, the stairs are under renovation and the elevator is _very_ old and slow. You’ll need to relax and be patient as we make all the necessary adjustments!”

“Sure. Whatever. I don’t care about some stupid changes to the stairs. Just show me the elevator. I’m sure I can endure a slow ride.” Charity was losing patience. She was going to have _strong_ words with whoever thought up this whole scheme. If she was smart, she might even get someone fired, making further room for her at the tip top of the organization.

Tattoo girl smiled and gestured for Charity to follow. She led her to an elevator, all right. It was at the far back of the hotel. They didn’t pass a single soul on the way there. Though Charity was certain she heard something like TVs buzzing quietly away and thumps from a few of the rooms. So it wasn’t _completely_ empty after all.

When they reached the lift’s double doors, the green-haired woman didn’t just press a button. There was a keypad and, with a bit of effort, she was able to remember the combination.

“The whole top floor is locked down for the weekend,” she explained. “Nobody can get up without a code. You’ll have lots and lots of privacy. Of course, when you want to go down, you just need to ask someone upstairs.”

The metal doors opened and Charity was treated to the biggest, most extravagant elevator she had ever seen. The walls were covered in plush, cushioned walls between gold-plated frames. They were pocked with jewels, or convincing imitations, and the floor had an old fashioned velvet look with more gold patterns. The lighting was moody and came from a single, flat fixture in the ceiling.

Most impressive of all was a huge, comfy-looking chair at the back of the lift. It was cushioned with the same luxury material as on the walls. Even so, it had a modern art look. The headrest sank downwards in a V-shape, leaving a big gap where one’s head might rest, if they were tall enough.

“In order to improve your stay and our service, we’ve installed this very modern massage seat.” She motioned again for Charity to enter. “This can be a long, hard process for a lot of new guests. But the automated attendant will activate via pressure sensor the moment you take your seat. By the end of your journey you should be extremely comfortable and amenable. We also-”

“Listen lady,” Charity interrupted as she walked past the threshold. “I appreciate a good sales pitch more than most people. But if you’re angling for a new job outside the jetsetting lifestyle of a whore, you’re really overdoing it. But sure. Thanks for telling me all about your fancy elevator.”

“Oh, don’t worry, being a whore is super fun!” The doors started closed between them. Green Hair waved happily and licked her lips. She added: “Have fun!”

Charity rolled her eyes once again in the mostly empty box. Her long hair had fallen over her shoulder a bit; she flipped it back in one practiced, professional motion without jostling her lenses.

“I hope they didn’t spend too much on you, you stupid slut…”

Unlike the receptionist, she was able to quickly scan the elevator buttons for exactly what she needed. The hotel was a lot bigger than it looked... It seemed to have a tremendous number of basements and sub-basements. She ignored them all and reached out a manicured thumb to press the button for the top floor.

Charity immediately felt a sharp prick in the meat of her thumb.

“Ouch! What the fuck?”

The executive reflexively pulled back her hand, ready to suck on the digit to stop any blood. But there was none... Nor was there any visible sharp edge on the button — just a dim, pale circle of plastic with a black number printed in the center.

Charity ran her finger lightly over it from side to side, looking for whatever had stuck her. She didn’t feel anything. Well, not on the button, anyway. The poke in her hand outright tingled. Maybe it was just a static shock? She shook her hand to increase circulation, but if anything the tingle just seemed to spread through her palm, then her arm, and her shoulder.

“Weird.” Charity blinked. It took her brain a moment to catch on, but she realized the elevator wasn’t moving. The button light wasn’t on, either. “Old piece of… junk.”

Her words came slower than expected. The room was warm and stuffy. She blinked again.

Certain that she had checked the button for anything that could poke her, Charity pressed it again, with an index finger this time. Her hand wobbled a bit. It struggled to reach the key in one smooth motion. When she finally made it… Charity was instantly struck with another short, piercing prick.

“Fuck!” She actually recoiled backwards from the keypad that time. “Piece of… shit! What the hell did I ever… Oh!”

Amber light glowed around the button; the elevator jolted to movement. As advertised, it wasn’t the slightest bit fast, but it rumbled to life with enough of a start that Charity to directly backwards into the big, cushy chair. She suddenly just couldn’t find her balance. There was a soft plop of displaced leather.

“Goddammit! Just what in the hell is… Umm… Ahh.” 

Charity’s head spun. The tingle had spread throughout her entire body, relaxing her immensely. It was no wonder she couldn’t stand. 

“Musta… sat down too fast,” she said aloud. Though part of her wondered if that only applied to _standing up_ too fast. “Gosh I feel… so funny”

It was an accurate statement, even if there was nobody around to hear it. Charity wasn’t the slightest bit worried about her lack of motor control. She was just super happy she had a big, comfy chair to fall back on. That was so convenient. Maybe she was too harsh on the pretty lady who tried to show it off to her. She felt funny for being so mean. She felt so funny she giggled.

The only problem with the seat was that deep recess in the headrest. It made it uncomfortable to sit up straight: leaving the back of one’s head exposed and unsupported. For lightheaded little Charity, it was a full-on struggle to keep from easing herself into the dip and just staring at the ceiling.

Just then, there was a soft _ding_ as the elevator reached the second floor. It seemed to ring in Charity’s ears for much longer than the actual sound lasted.

The box really _was_ slow. But Charity didn’t mind. She was too tired and funny to mind. Her sense of time slowed way, way down as she felt herself sink into the chair centimeter by centimeter. What a soft, relaxing chair...

As if on cue, when the ding finished sounding, the music started. As did the woman’s voice.

“Hello,” she said. “Welcome to your state of the art ‘elevation relaxation’ experience. I’m your automated attendant.”

The voice was as soothing and invisible as the muted muzak now coming from hidden speakers.

“Huh?” Charity continued blinking slowly at her own reflection in the metal doors. “Uh… Hello.”

“Before we begin, please state your name for your customized relaxation experience.”

“No, I’m sorry… I... I don’t need any-”

“Please state your name for your customized relaxation experience.”

“I said I don’t-”

“State your name.”

The final order was followed by another _ding_ from the elevator. Charity suddenly couldn’t focus well enough to argue with the relentless machine any further. Something about the commanding tone of the final statement cut like a lightning bolt through her sluggish consciousness.

“It’s… Charity Rode.”

“Did you say your name is Cherry?”

“What? No, I… Charity. Charity Rode.”

“You said your name is Cherry.” The second time didn’t sound like a question.

“I… did? I can’t- Nobody’s called me Cherry… since...”

“Your name is Cherry.” Before the businesswoman could answer, there was another _ding_ as the elevator reached a new level. It sang happily in her ears and made her lose her train of thought.

“Say ‘Hello, my name is Cherry’ to proceed with your ‘elevation relaxation’ experience.”

“Uhhh... Hello, my name is... Cherry.”

“Hello, Cherry. That’s a very pretty name. It suits a pretty woman like you very well. We can now begin your ‘elevation relaxation’ experience. Please gently tilt your head back into the provided rest slot.

“The… what?” The machine was using terms Cherry didn’t quite understand. The tingling was _so_ distracting. The deeper she sank into the cushions, the more noticeable the sensation became on her flesh. The music was distracting, too. She could _almost_ make out soft lyrics hidden beneath the tones.

“Tilt your head back, Cherry.”

Cherry remembered the opening in the elevator seat. It was behind her, so she couldn’t see it. That’s probably why she had forgotten about it…

“Tilt your head back, Cherry.”

The department head felt her own noggin slip backwards into the dip almost reflexively. She didn’t even try to fight it. It was much more comfortable to just let her jaw slacken and her head fall into place. She stared directly into the calm, circular light on the ceiling. The music enveloped her even more deeply — perhaps built into speakers on the chair itself.

“Good girl.”

The sound of the automated voice’s praise brought a smile to Cherry’s face. She was tingly all over, felt funny, and could barely stand, but apparently she was doing something right. Some deep, important part of Cherry reminded her that she liked to do well — loved to win and score and seal the deal. There was something strange about the phrase “good girl,” but...

A third _ding_ from the elevator brushed her worries aside before they could truly form. 

“Very good girl.” Cherry’s idiot smile widened.

“We will now begin your personalized ‘elevation relaxation’ program. You will be restrained to ensure you can fully focus and do not interfere with the program.”

“What!?” Now that _did_ concern Cherry. Her heart rate picked up a tick. Being restrained didn’t sound very relaxing at all. “Why do I need to be-?”

“Do not interfere with your program”

Clamps firmly but gently rotated out of the chair from folds hidden in the cushions. Cherry’s wrists, ankles, waist, and even throat were hugged and locked into place. A thin, black arch appeared in front of her vision, filling the voice where her head might have rested. Instead, just about an inch from her glasses, it kept her from tilting her head back up, either. 

She was locked in position. The visor blocked most of her vision. The music remained calming, but grew more intense in her ears.

“Um…” she started. “Hey. This isn’t relaxing… Hey! Somebody get me out of this stupid elevator!

“You do not want to interfere with your programming.”

There was another _ding_ that coincided with the visor before her eyes flickering to life. Cherry’s mouth made a small “O” as the music, ringing, and sudden flashes overwhelmed her senses. She lost her train of thought again.

“Aaawww,” she sighed.

The only things left to focus on were the flickering lights and the calming notes pouring into her head from three different directions. Before her sluggish synapses could think of anything better, the sensory input took root. She began to _really_ listen and watch. Her mouth stayed open, but not to speak.

The disembodied woman’s voice continued: “You’re a very good girl, Cherry. Just relax and enjoy the ride. You enjoy rides. You enjoy being ridden.”

Over the last sentence, machinegun images of human beings, knelt down and bent over and held against walls, blasted her eyes between flashes.

“You love sex,” she continued. “Sex is one of your favorite activities in the whole, wide world. Because sex is a competition. It’s a game to make as many people cum as much as possible in as many different ways as you can. And you love competitions.”

More images assailed her with more positions, expressions, and speeds. Cherry couldn’t take them all in consciously, but she tried her best. It was like a game to see how many pulsing cocks, pussie, tits, and tongues she could count before losing track. Each one she counted seemed to intensify the tingle in her body. 

The voice was right. She was very competitive. And she loved… sex. Yes that seemed right. She was very competitive about it. She was competitive about _everything_.

“But you work too hard, Cherry.” The voice sounded pouty, but there was no mistaking it for anything but a reprimand. Cherry had done something… wrong. Working too hard was wrong?

“You tried too hard for too long to win at one thing. You got super good at business and making money. You went all the way up, up, up to the top where you hardly need to compete anymore. You just boss your employees around all the time and make them do most of the fun things for you.

“You can try to compete against the other executives, of course, but that takes forever. Years. And in the meantime you’re not competing or winning at anything. You’re not having fun. You’re not having sex. You miss the sense of constant accomplishment. Sex makes you feel accomplished. You miss sex.”

Mixed between the flashing lights and writhing bodies on her visor, words appeared much too fast to actually read. But they _felt_ familiar. They felt like they lined up with what the relaxing lady was saying over the soothing music. They felt like they lined up with the oscillating tingle that had spread to every inch of her. It felt good when it all lined up... It felt like winning. Cherry loved to win! That’s why Cherry loved sex… because it felt good and winning felt good. Sex felt good. Sex was winning.

Heat started to crawl up Cherry’s thighs from the secret place beneath her white skirt. She was getting damp there. That was so like her! Always ready to compete. Always wet and ready for sex. God, she wanted to have sex.

“You’re very lucky you came here Cherry,” the voice continued to cake on over her subliminally scrambled thoughts. “You’re very lucky you get a chance to relax. You don’t get to relax when you’re the boss… You always have to be in charge, giving orders. 

“But if you _weren’t_ the boss, you’d get to relax. You’d get to feel good. You’d get to focus on easy, everyday tasks that make you feel good to complete. You’d get to have sex and make people cum! People always want to cum, over and over again. You’d never have to stop. You’d never stop winning. You never want to stop getting fucked. 

“You could work for them, you know. You could make them feel good all day every day while you make yourself feel good. Easy, repetitive, rewarding jobs like that are perfect for a competitive woman like you. Fucking and sucking and slurping and being oepn all the time is easy. You don’t have to think about it. In fact, overthinking just makes it harder to compete. You need to be ready at a moment’s notice. You need to always be ready for sex. You need to relax.

“Relax, Cherry. Don’t think about difficult, stressful things like giving orders. Think simple, easy, happy thoughts! Those are much more suited to a pretty woman like you. Let your mind slow way, way down. Put yourself on an even playing field with other stupid whores that live only to suck and fuck and get filled with cum. You’ll be much more competitive that way! It’ll be so much easier to _win_. 

“You love to win; that’s why you’re so stupid. Being stupid makes you a better slut — makes you horny. Being stupid makes you horny. Being horny makes you stupid.”

The faster the sounds and images buffeted Cherry’s mind, the slower her mind seemed to function. The heat in her loins was _really_ roaring now. She was so wet… so horny… And like a fuel leak for her mental engine, the more she dampened her panties, the harder it became to think. She was such a pretty, stupid slut to let a thing like that happen! 

Then again, being stupid did make her horny. Being horny made her a better slut. She was _very_ competitive among other idiot sluts. She always said her office was full of them (usually to their faces).

The woman downstairs was a _big_ slut. She got to work in a building where they let her flash her tits and get sexy tattoos that told everyone what a sex-crazed bimbo she was. Cherry was lucky she didn’t have to compete with that. Being a dumb, horny bitch was enough to get her lots and lots of promotions where she worked! Not that it was very fun. She wanted to have more fun. She wanted to have more sex.

“You’re a happy, horny slut, Cherry. You’re the office sex toy. The company vehicle: everyone gets to ride, sometimes more than one at a time. It makes you happy. It makes you horny. It makes you stupid. It makes you a winner.

As the voice spoke, the images in her visor burned brighter and deeper and snugger into the folds of her brain.

She could conjure snapshots of hard, throbbing cocks and eager mouths with the single-minded intensity of a stupid whore who lived only for sex. Even if she didn’t intentionally think of them, one of the scenes would flash into her mind unbidden, giving her previews of the kinds of joy she could conjure by just making people cum. Whenever a snapshot entered her like that, she felt a sympathetic twinge in her cunt — as though these wonderful, intrusive thoughts were connected to an invisible dildo teasing her aching hole.

Sex made her feel good, yes, but it also made her horny. Winning was all about feeling good, after all. If she got to feel a rush from winning (by making herself into a walking, talking sex toy) _and_ the usual pleasure from the act itself, all the better. It was exactly the kind of thing a competitive slut like her would come up with!

Slut. Sex toy. Happy. Horny. Stupid. Winner.

The new status quo corkscrewed into Cherry’s mind. _Ding_ after pleasant _ding_ of the elevator doors scrubbed her mind clean periodically, giving her a chance to relearn her new life’s desires over and over again. Layer after identical layer was pushed down into her mind like a spiral staircase.

Eventually, if you tried to walk through her subconscious, you could go forever and not find anything but a happy, horny, slutty, stupid sex toy. The beliefs began to run so deep and so many times over that they looped back in on themselves. You could reach the bottom of the cock sleeve staircase only to find yourself right back at the top. Many minutes passed, and Cherry’s mind twisted into infinitely recurring cumslut.

She was left to simmer that way for a few extra moments. Then a particularly cheerful _ding_ signaled the sounds and images being broadcast into Cherry’s head to gently fade. The visor retracted into the seat. Most of the restraints disappeared. Only the taut band around her throat remained. Not that she even tried to pull against it.

Cherry’s open mouth stayed pointed at the ceiling. There was an infinitesimal grin there, flanked with drool that dribbled down her throat on one side. Her eyes were a tiny bit crossed behind her glasses after losing the too-close images. Her seat was soaked.

Another, final _ding_. She had reached the top floor. The gilded doors slid open.

A redheaded woman in the same absurd outfit as the tattooed receptionist (and just as beautiful) sauntered in on matching high heels. She rolled a room service cart in front of her. Instead of food and dishes, though, it was covered in cosmetics: dark lipstick, blush, eyeliner. There were other, stranger devices, too.

The wobbling redhead rolled the cart next to the chair and sat her dainty from on Cherry’s lap (still held together by the slightly tight skirt there). She snapped her fingers in front of Cherry’s face.

“Huh! Where am-”

Before she could say anything, the new whore kissed Cherry deeply, sticking a curious tongue as deep as it would travel. A horny, happy slut like Cherry couldn’t help but melt into the makeout. Then the redhead pulled away. Some of the drool transferred to her face, while some of the lipstick spread across Cherry. Then the redhead gave her partner a more traditional _shush_.

“I’m Abby,” she finally said. “I’m here to get you ready for the conference! But don’t worry. It won’t take long, and you’ll be able to go have all kinds of fun. You’re, like, so super cute already!”

Cherry couldn’t help but wonder if she wasn’t actually as pretty as this warm, wiggly slut sat upon her lap. It would be _such_ a challenge to compete with her! Maybe if she dressed more appropriately, like a dumb slut should, it would help her chances. She should have asked the girl downstairs if she had another bikini like hers.

“Kay,” was what the executive could muster. “Um… That sounds, like… easy enough. I really like easy things. I’m pretty easy myself! Do you, like, wanna fuck?”

“Oh, totally!” Abby began by tearing Cherry’s blouse and jacket open, leaving only the black tie between her breasts, which spilled out in a designer lilac bra. “ _All_ the goshdarn time.”

The tits were heavy (maybe not as big as Abby’s, who surely wiggled because she had trouble keeping her balance with those things). And they were very, very perky. It was all the brazier could do to keep Cherry’s stiff buds from drilling holes in the fabric. When was the last time Cherry had had sex again…?

Next Abby undid the tie. The jacket and blouse went straight to the floor. The bra was still in the way, though, so Abby hooked one finger through the collar around Cherry’s neck. She pulled forward and the band came out of the wall with ease — but didn’t detach from Cherry. As Abby bent the pliable girl over her bare thighs to unclasp the undergarment, Cherry touched her new choker. It was seamless. There was no place to unhook it or remove it without just cutting the tough material altogether. It seemed she had a permanent leather collar.

The redhead tilted the now topless woman back up and went to work sprucing up her face. She thickened her lipstick into intense maroon puffers, gave her cheeks more definition, and brought her eyes into focus beneath her glasses (no pun intended).

Complete with the lack of a shirt, she looked every bit the office slut now.

Abby slid down off the lap; Cherry almost whimpered with disappointment. That is until the taller woman pulled her onto walking, skirted legs. Her attendant knelt and pulled that down, too, panties and all.

Cherry was naked, but for the collar and spectacles, and now all dolled up. Her nipples buzzed. Her snatch drizzled. In the tinged reflection of the elevator walls, she really did look as pretty as the hotel sex toys that had attended to her.

“Since you’re here for the conference, you won’t need a guest or service uniform,” Abby explained with a smile. She took a long, flat rope from the tray. It had a metal clasp at the end. “I’ll lead you right in!”

The senior bimbo snapped the leash around Cherry’s collar and motioned for her to step forward — like Green Hair had done downstairs. She took two hesitant steps forward into the hallway…

As she did, she felt a quick, not-entirely-unpleasant burn on her backside. She yelped and whirled.

Just out of the corner of her eye, she could see a freshly branded bar code over her pale butt. Abby held a strange-looking device that must have come from the service table. It looked like an overdesigned price gun. She had apparently used it to mark Cherry with the thick, dark lines reserved for property.

“It’s sorta like a receipt,” the redhead explained. “This way we can keep track of all our satisfied customers _and_ merchandize, after you both leave the hotel! You did say you weren’t staying long, didn’t you?”

“Uh. I don’t… know. I think I was supposed to… go down.”

“Oh, you can go down lots and lots in the conference room,” Abby said. “I did like three or four times just while we waited for you! I think your coworkers have it under control now, though.”

Cherry was confused, but only for a moment. As soon as Abby mentioned going down, half-a-dozen snapshots from before blitzed across her brain like a flipbook. Each brought a tiny twitch to her pussy — a built-in response to the ghostly sense of swallowing cum and juices. Her head jerked; she smiled.

“Right,” she breathed. “Conference room…”

With that, the duo marched down the hotel hallway toward the sound of bawdy voices. Some were high and feminine. Others not so much. Pushing the door open to the conference room revealed the source.

It was a big, round room only lit by the blue glow of a slideshow projector. On the projection were images and statistics that Cherry could recognize, but… for some reason didn’t understand, no matter how hard she looked at them.

The rest of the room, though, she understood perfectly. Huffing, puffing sighs; short shrieks; ditzy giggles. The boardroom table was circled by a mix of mostly men and women. Some were in chairs and mostly clothed. Some sat in laps, mostly _un_ clothed. Others knelt, or bent over, or squatted. All of them had their faces screwed up with varying looks of bliss.

“Ah, Ms. Rode. You finally made it.”

A beautiful, if somewhat bedraggled androgyonous person stood just to the side of Abby and Cherry, watching the display with hands plunged in labcoat pockets.

They also had glasses and adjusted them while they approached. Cherry blinked.

Abby was the next to speak: “Master! This is, like, Cherry. Isn’t that such a pretty name? It makes me think of popping them.”

“Right,” the master said. “I was a little distracted monitoring the other latecomers when you told me about the change. Good ad libbing, Abby.”

Abby blushed with excitement at her master’s praise. Cherry looked behind the figure to see the other “latecomers”: men and women strapped to chairs a little like the one Cherry used to relax in the elevator. They were a lot plainer, though, and had no armrests. Instead they had their hands tied behind their backs. Their legs and waists were tied to keep them from kicking as they writhed and groaned, though, and portable versions of the visor Cherry had enjoyed fit snugly around their heads.

“These ones work even slower than the deluxe model you enjoyed, Ms. R- Cherry.” The master caught themself at the last second. “But the subliminals are just as potent with enough exposure. And some of the clients get as much a kick out of watching the reprogramming process as the end results themselves.”

“Um, I’m like, sorry,” Cherry offered. “I don’t wanna interrupt, but, like, I really wanna fuck. Do you wanna fuck me?”

The master smiled.

“Often,” they cooed. “But you’re already bought and paid for. In exchange for helping make a more equitable, ethical work situation, your new owners will make a sizable annual donation to my research.”

“Ooh,” Cherry said. “But like, I’m _really_ horny.”

The naked exec sucked on one finger and ran her free hand down her rounded body, as if she was making the strongest sales pitch in human history. And it was… _very good_ , actually.

“Right,” the one in the labcoat said. “You need to get to work, then”

The androgynous analyst booped one finger between Cherry’s eyes, just about her glasses. Her mind went back to the blank slate it had been in the elevator. Her painted lips went slack and her eyes drooped.

“There’s been a restructuring at your company,” the master said. “Except instead of the usual employee layoffs, it’s the bosses like you who need new work. You _crave_ new work. You’re all desperate to become office sluts — sex toys for the workers you toyed with.

“You voted unanimously to be demoted to cum dumpsters for life. That way you can enjoy your cutthroat, competitive attitudes while improving the lives of others — by relieving their stress. You’ve got money to live off forever, and then some, so you’ll be taking all future payment from now on in the form of degrading language and loads of bodily fluid. Most of the rest you can donate and use to buy new clothes befitting cock cleaning holes like yourselves.”

They tapped Cherry once again, letting the latest orders cement behind her eyes. 

She wavered and smiled and looked hungrily at the swarm of her peers getting railed from all ends. That should have been her!

“I’m, like, sorry,” Cherry said. “I like... have to get to work!”

The ex-executive pushed past the hotel master and found a snug sector to play in. There were more employees than sex slaves, so she didn’t have trouble finding two or three neglected organs.

“Is this space taken?” She looked into the eyes of a mostly topless black woman with braided hair. She was sat at the table, like the rest of the employees of the newly minted co-op, but had to contort herself to kiss a naked, muscular man with a firm rod up his ass on the other end. She turned away reluctantly, only to see the fresh meat standing at attention.

“Not at all,” she said. The seated woman tugged on Cherry’s leash to bring her forcibly into waiting crotch. The black woman hiked up her business skirt, revealing no panties that Cherry could see, and let the breaths close the last leg of the journey on their own.

Her painted lips smeared over cooch, sealing folds within tender suckling. Her hidden tongue found a tough clit quickly enough. It lapped up and down the length of the vagina, dipping deeper as it went, always ending the wet trail on the sensitive nub. The mostly-clothed woman (Cherry thought she remembered her name was… Andrea, from the fraud department) yowled with surprise pleasure. Cherry had little firsthand experience with other women. Yet she had years of implanted images to draw from.

There was a slap on Cherry’s branded rump. This time it was her turn to be shocked, and her tongue skittered firmly down Andrea’s clean taint. The sitting woman _really_ liked that — just as Cherry liked the belittling gesture.

The stranger’s spanking continued. Cherry’s tongue was jolted into more spontaneous shoves in and out of the cunt than she could have achieved on their own. Everyone was happy… especially when the unseen force from behind finally dropped the pretense and skewered into Cherry’s own pussy.

She shrieked, delighted, into Andrea. She could feel her inside and outside parts welcoming the forceful shaft without any conscious effort from the addled slut herself.

Her mouth was full of sticky pussy. Her pussy was full of warm pecker. The two sensations tangled inside her chest until she felt like her heart was about to burst. Some of the pressure spread to her nipples, as the soft, pink things pointed straight toward the floor than she thought possible.

The office whore was sledding down her mental staircase now — sliding with fantastic, fleshy friction past too many brainwashed memories of being spitroast and used for even a dedicated sex toy like her to process. Her eyes rolled back into her head; reflex took over. She was a machine for the sexual gratification of two people she wouldn’t have looked at twice the day before.

She gave, and gave, and gave, until her mind gave, too. An explosion of stardust behind her crooked glasses brought her to rapid-fire climax.

Slut! Sex toy! Happy! Horny! Stupid! Winner!

That was Cherry. Even as a blast of hot, filling goo forced its way out of her cunt, and a flood of warm wetness burst into her mouth like fruit juice, she could only enjoy the primal happiness of fulfilling her new, destined role in life.

She would get used to it, of course. They all did. She’d recover, learn to keep her composure, and feel her malleable mind harden into its new shape. But this explosion of pure, selfless pleasure was what sealed the deal. She just _loved_ giving away her mind and body for free!


End file.
